with her husband of twenty-six years. She has one son and daughter-in-law.
Dear Reader.
It’s always a special treat for me to have the opportunity to speak to you directly and say a big thank-you for buying and reading my books—all thirty of them—down through the years!
Writing romances isn’t an easy job, but it is a very fulfilling one. I like to think I’m spreading a little love to each and every one of you through my books.
I’m especially proud of The Tycoon’s Tots, which features not one, but two adorable babies and two people who desperately want to be their parents. It also happens to be a continuation of my TWINS ON THE DOORSTEP miniseries.
The Tycoon’s Tots, as with the other two books of the series, is all about family and what it means to a woman to be a part of a family, yet also have one of her very own. After all. we women don’t just stop at being a lover, or wife. More often than not we’re also a mother, a daughter, or a sister, and our love doesn’t just encompass a man it reaches over the entire family and makes each relationship within it a very special thing. I think you’ll see such is the case with my heroines, the Murdock sisters.
It was a delight forme to write TWINS ON THE DOORSTEP and tell you how two babies not only create chaos and change in the Murdock family, but also bring lasting love to Justine. Rose and Chloe. I hope each of their stories will touch a spot in your heart as they did mine and that you’ll enjoy reading them as much as I enjoyed writing them.
Love and God Bless,
Prologue
Wyatt Sanders picked up the plain white envelope lying atop the leather duffel bag and pulled out a one-page letter. He’d read the words so many times now, he practically knew them by heart, but he still felt compelled to read it again one last time before he left Houston.
Dear Wyatt,
I know it’s been awhile since we last talked, so hearing from me now, like this, must be a shock for you. Believe me, I never wanted to be a burden to you. Especially after Daddy died. You have your own life to live. But there seems to be no one else I can turn to for help.
It’s a long story, but I’ve gotten myself into a mess. I didn’t want you to know how things were with me— at least not until I had the chance to fix them. Just please don’t reproach me for making bad choices. I never was as strong as you, Wyatt.
As of now I’m in a mental health facility in Las Cruces, New Mexico. But I’m going to get better. Promise. Until then, I want you to go get my babies and take them home with you. They told me their father is dead now. I’m not sure I believe them, but if he is, I know you’ll be a good father to my twins, Wyatt. They need you now and so do I.
Below his sister’s signature was the name of a family and a ranch in Hondo, New Mexico, where the babies were supposedly staying. Wyatt had never heard his sister mention the family or the place before. But he would find them. It was the only way he could help his sister now.
Chloe Murdock galloped the chestnut around the track a second time, then slowed him to a trot. He wasn’t ready to quit their run, and Chloe had to strain against the reins to remind him who was boss.
She’d just gotten the horse in check when she noticed the man standing at the top of the hill, a few yards away from the stable. He was looking in her direction, his hand shading his eyes, even though he was wearing a pair of dark glasses.
It wasn’t unusual for a man to visit the ranch. Men often stopped by to inquire about buying a horse or bull. The Bar M had always been known for its good stock and that hadn’t changed even though her father, Tomas, had died and no longer ran the place.
Yet even from this distance, Chloe got the impression that this man in his khaki slacks and expensive leather jacket was not here to buy or sell stock. At least not the four-legged kind she was familiar with.
By the time she reached the top of the hill, the chestnut was still dancing with the urge to run. His sides were heaving and his flared nostrils blew streams of vapor into the crisp morning air. The man on the ground kept a careful distance from the woman and the fired up thoroughbred.
“Hello,” she said to him. “I’m Chloe Murdock. Can I help you?”
Not certain he could trust her or the horse, Wyatt remained several steps away.
“I’m Wyatt Sanders. The woman up at the house told me I would find you down here.” Innate good manners had him pulling off his sunglasses and slipping them inside his shirt pocket.
Chloe was a woman who’d never been that impressed with men, good-looking or otherwise, but she had to admit this one was quite striking. His hair was as black and shiny as a crow’s wing and slicked straight back from a wide forehead. His hooded gray eyes were a cool and startling contrast against his darkly tanned skin. Though his lips were compressed in a thin line at the moment, she got the impression of chiseled fullness. There was money and city polish written from the toes of his brown Italian loafers to the top of his expensive haircut.
“If you’re looking for a racehorse, I’m not inclined to sell. A few months ago, I did let a five-year-old go in a claiming race, but the ten I have now are all young and,” she flashed him a charming smile, “fast.”
Wyatt hadn’t been ready for the sight of this woman, nor the sexy tilt of her berry colored lips. He’d been expecting a cowgirl of course—what else would one find on a ranch?—but all the cowgirls he’d ever seen in Houston wore skin-tight blue jeans, overdone makeup and big hairdos.
But this girl, or more rightly this slip of a woman, sitting astride the nervous thoroughbred was nothing like that. She was wearing jeans all right, but they were black and loose fitting with the hems tucked into a pair of brown western boots that had intricate stitching on the tall tops. An old gray rugby shirt served as her blouse. In spite of the cool air, the neck was unbuttoned and the sleeves were pushed up to her elbows to show a pair of slender but strongly muscled forearms. Her straight hair was the color of rich burgundy wine. White the crown was covered with a red baseball cap, the cape of it lying against her back shone like red silk in the morning sun.
There was no makeup or artificial color to be found on her face, yet she looked anything but pale. The wind had blushed her cheeks and lips and her deep green eyes glittered like twin emeralds as she looked down at him from her lofty perch on the horse’s back.
“Actually,” he said, “I’m…not looking to buy a racehorse.”
Her winged brows arched at him. “Oh. Then you’re here about a bull. Well, you’ll have to see my sister, Rose.”
“I’m not here about a bull, either. I’m here…” He paused as he realized all the things he’d planned on saying, all the questions his mind had dwelled on these past weeks, were fast slipping
